


Cut And Sew

by jamjoon



Series: YugBam Designer Au [1]
Category: GOT7
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fashion & Models, M/M, Sexual Content, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2017-04-30
Packaged: 2018-10-25 16:29:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,434
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10768092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jamjoon/pseuds/jamjoon
Summary: Bambam may be young, but in this industry, you learn fast or fall behind.However, he's never met a model as bright and sparkly as Yugyeom.





	Cut And Sew

**Author's Note:**

> finally my textile science class has some merit

“You’re so young!”

Yeah, kinda’. Bambam doesn’t look up out of surprise. More so, he’s impressed at this guy's gall.

He’s tall, duh, slender but proportioned, and a dream for menswear. Beautiful face, hooped earrings and thick, black- blue hair.

“So are you,” Bambam retorts, adjusting the pincushion on his wrist.

He flushes. How cute.

“Aww, she’s bashful,” Bambam teases, and pats his chair. “Up please.”

The model points, “Up here?”

“Yeah. Have you never had a fitting before?”

“N-No, I have.” He steps up to the chair. “I mean-“ He laughs. “I haven’t like this. Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so nervous today.”  

Bambam cracks a smile, “What’s your name?”

“Yugyeom.”

“Put your feet together, Yugyeom.”

He does, and Bambam measures from hip to knee. His legs aren’t the longest he’s seen, but are certainly longer than his own.

He’s beautiful, of course, like every other model they’ve sent through his studio door. However, he’s endearingly blushy, more-so polite than some of the other egotistical walking toothpicks that think they’re all that because they come from some remote providence in Germany.

“Where did you learn Korean?” Yugyeom asks.

Bambam nudges his knees apart a little, enough to fit a fist between, and measures his inseam. “I live in Korea.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Yugyeom laughs.

Bambam giggles too – this kid is cute – “I picked it up when I moved here. Took a few classes, whatever.”

“Ah. How old are you? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Uhh,” Bambam hesitates. “Korean age, twenty-two”

“Me too!” Yugyeom sounds too excited. “How did you become such an established designer so young?”

Bambam pats his hip, and Yugyeom shuffles around on the chair. He nudges up his shirt a little – there’s smooth skin there, but Bambam is professional and unphased. He routinely wraps the tape around his hips, and write down the measurement.

The onslaught of questions are unexpected. Models typically walk in, lips sewed shut, eyes dead, hands limp at their sides. Yugyeom is refreshingly full of life.

“I’m not really established.”

“People know your name.”

“I’m lucky,” Bambam shrugs. “I got a good internship while I was still in college.”

Yugyeom makes a cute _ah_ noise, and Bambam goes back to measuring. He motions for Yugyeom to step back down, and he does. He has long arms. Bambam writes down numbers, and does the internal math – he’ll have to extend his sleeve pattern by an inch or two-

“Excuse me, but…” Yugyeom starts, “…my label could’ve just sent you measurements. Do you measure every model personally?”

Bambam sticks his pencil back behind his ear, brushing back bleached white hair. “Yep. I don’t trust any of those idiots, no offense.”

That startles a laugh from Yugyeom, “Bad experience?”

“One time I designed a blouse with double weave china silk. _Double. Weave. China. Silk._ It was reversible, for fucks sake, and the measurements they sent me were a half inch off around the chest.” Bambam rubs his forehead at the memory. “He looked like an Italian sausage. Such a waste of time.”  

“Jesus,” Yugyeom blinks. “I only vaguely studied textile, but isn’t that crazy expensive?”

“And a nightmare to work with.” Bambam measures the width of his chest. “But I’m kinda’ impressed. Did your company require a background knowledge of fabric, or something?”

“Oh, no. I – I wanted to be a designer. I gave up because the schooling was too hard.”

“What a shame,” Bambam pats his shoulder. “You have too much personality to be a model.”

Yugyeom laughs again, “Ohh, shade.”

Bambam grins, and writes down the last measurement, “Was that too mean?”

Yugyeom winks, for the love of god.

“I won’t tell.”

Bambam actually feels his face redden, so he turns back to his worktable and says, “You’re good to go. Tell your buddy he’s next.”

“Oh, thank you,” Yugyeom chirps. “Will you call me when I need to come back for a fitting?”

“I have people to do that for me.”

“Well then,” Yugyeom bristles playfully, pretty brown eyes squinting as he smiles. “It was nice meeting you.”

“You too.” 

Bambam actually means it.

 

* * *

 

Many models have walked through Bambam’s door. Meeting new people is part of his field of business, period. He’s good at memorizing names. He’s hardened through internships – through stolen designs and heartbreak.

Yugyeom was beautiful, yes, but Bambam is beautiful as well. He dresses well, does his hair, changes out his piercings and smudges on makeup like everyone else –

But Yugyeom’s bright smile – the personality beneath his skin – it made Bambam feel like his own age again.

“What’s wrong?” Mark asks, knife in hand.

Bambam looks up from where his elbow leans on the table, head in hand. “Hm?”

“You haven’t said a word since you got home." Mark frowns, knife sliding into a cucumber with moderate precision. “It’s making me nervous.”

“Eh,” Bambam shrugs, and leans to rest his chin on the table. “I’m tired. I gotta’ go get fabric tomorrow.”

“Do you need a ride?”

“I can walk.”

“Okay. I wasn’t going to take you anyways, but I thought I’d offer.”

“Ass,” Bambam shoots back. “Picking up Jackson?”

“Mm.”

Bambam nods, and presses his forehead to a cooler part of the wood. Mark always keeps the apartment way too fucking warm, but he pays the electricity bill, so Bambam can’t bitch too much. They’ve been living together since he was sixteen and essentially homeless.

“There was a cute model today,”  Bambam blurts.

Mark raises an eyebrow, but doesn’t look up. “Aren’t they all?”

“One was _really_ cute.” Bambam huffs. “He was my age. Normally they’re eighteen or twenty-five.”

“ _Hey._ Twenty-five isn’t bad. _”_

“Dude, you’re old.”

“I’m your hyung _._ ”

Bambam snorts, “Neither you or I are Korean. Fuck off.”

“Whatever,” Mark says, in English. “Cute model. Are you interested?”

“I told myself _‘no fucking the models’_ after the last incident.” Bambam sighs.

 Mark shrugs, “He was hot though.”

“I almost got fired. Fucking bigmouth.”

“Wasn’t he ridiculously stupid?”

“He didn’t know what a caterpillar was. I thought I was having an out of body experience.”

Mark wipes his hands off on his apron, “Then it’s for the best. Stop hooking up with models.”

 

* * *

 

It’s eighty dollars a yard – but it’s _perfect._ Authentic, 100% wool, yarn dyed crepe suiting. You can see the mommie weave without a pick glass; it’s a shimmery grey color, thanks to the white weft yarns. The drape is a _dream,_ especially for wool, Jesus.

It’s eighty dollars a yard, and it’ll look gorgeous on Yugyeom.

Bambam runs his fingers across the fabric. The jobber is staring at him with an eyebrow raised, skeptical as usual, but Bambam blinks twice, trying to shake off this weird mood he’s in.

It can’t _just_ fit Yugyeom – it has to work for the fifteen other models he’s sending down the runway. As well as the season’s colors, and his work order. But damn, Yugyeom would look _stunning in –_

 _Stop._ He grits, fingers playing with the fraying edge once more. It’s expensive, but he can probably save money if he barders for cheaper buttons down the block.

“Four yards, please,” Bambam points, and the man nods, tapping the yard stick against his shoe, and grabbing his scissors from his back pocket.

 

* * *

 

The suit he designs for Yugyeom is unique, of course. Padded shoulders, slim French seams, floral printed silk lining. None of that cheap acetate nonsense they use on prom dresses – it’s _divine._  

Divine, yet unfished. He leaves the hem open, just in case he needs to take it in.

The shirt matches the lining, a deep neckline, and slightly shorter hem. Bambam definitely does not design it specifically to see more of Yugyeom’s chest. Absolutely not.

 “Knock knock?”

His studio door opens. It’s already bright from the big windows, and the overhead lights, but it _feels_ brighter now. Yugyeom has a cheeky smile – he’s just in a tank top and jeans, but it works for him. He’s a model, of course it works.

“Hey.”

He shuts the door behind him, “Sorry I’m early!”

“No, you’re right on time,” Bambam flips through the rack, and pulls out the one with the sticky note on the hangar. “This is yours. You can change in the pop up tent if you want.”

Yugyeom slides off his tank top, and takes the shirt from Bambam’s hand, “I’m good, haha. I’m used to having the clothes quite literally ripped off of me backstage.”

He’s not overly built – Bambam has seen more impressive abs – but there’s something attractive about the smooth expanse of his chest. He slips on the silk shirt, and the way it glides over his skin should be illegal, honestly.

“Ah,” Bambam nods. “So you’ve done runway?”

“And a few ads.” Yugyeom shrugs off his jeans, and carefully slips one leg into the tailored pant, “Nothing huge. I’m- uh, haha, hoping this gig might get me somewhere.”

“Well, if you do a good job, I’ll request you again,” Bambam says without thinking.

Yugyeom’s face lights up, as he zips up the pant. “Really? Then I’ll do a _great_ job!”

“Shush.” Bambam rubs his nose and points to the mirror with his other hand, “Stand here.”

Yugyeom does, just as he slips on the half-finished jacket, and he looks stunning. Bambam was right, of course, this fabric compliments his skintone.

“Hm,” Bambam pulls out a pin, and crouches down by Yugyeom’s legs. He thinks aloud, “A little big by the calves…”

He prods his legs slightly apart, and Yugyeom accommodates. Bambam pinches some of the fabric by his thighs and pulls, “How does this feel? Too tight?”

“Snug. I could probably sit.”

Bambam picks off a stray thread by his back pocket, and tugs the fabric down a little more around his thighs. He pins some of the excess, mumbles _don’t move,_ and grabs fabric chalk.

Yugyeom’s higher voice says, “This is beautiful.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re very good at fine detail.” He adds, “I mean, from what I’ve noticed. I saw your spring-summer collection and just about died.”

Bambam laughs, “I about died too. I slept three hours a night for two weeks.”

“Wow,” Yugyeom blanches. “Please tell me you’re sleeping now.”  

“Being a designer isn’t as frivolous as everyone makes it seem.” Bambam marks softly around his calf, deciding where to shorten the hem slightly.

“I learned that early on.”

Bambam stands back up to check his arms. He may or may not skim his hands up his outer hip as he stands – Yugyeom doesn’t flinch, instead staring at Bambam through the mirror with something, something _hot_ in his eyes.  Bambam quickly pulls away in an attempt to remain professional. Yugyeom continues to be chipper. His ears are pink. Cute.

“Arms out please~”

Yugyeom does so, and the jacket lifts slightly.

“Ahh,” Bambam preens. “A perfect fit.”

“Really?”

Bambam grips both the lapels and tugs, “Yep!”

Yugyeom is looking him right in the eye now. They’re not really that far apart in height – maybe a few inches or so. His eyes really are gorgeous up close.

“You’re pretty tall,” Yugyeom says, and his arms return to his sides.

 “I wasn’t always.”

“Well, I hope so. Imagine labor pains for a six-foot baby.”

Bambam laughs, almost forgetting to finish writing down his tailoring notes.

“Wow, smartass.”

“I’m sorry!” Yugyeom suddenly sputters, bowing, “I’m being _so_ unprofessional.”

 “I’m kidding,” Bambam winks, feeling smug as hell when Yugyeom is the one flustered. “Give me my clothes back.”

Yugyeom very carefully removes the garments, sliding off the jacket, then the silk shirt. The pants go last, and Bambam buries his nose in his notepad while Yugyeom shimmies his jeans back on.

“There’ll be one last fitting before the show,” Bambam looks up, and bites his lip when Yugyeom runs his hands through his hair. “Um. My people will call your people.”

 “Okay,” Yugyeom nods, hands fitting into his back pockets. “I’ll be back then!”

“Have a good day.”

“You too!” Yugyeom opens the door, “Please get some sleep.”

Bambam trails his fingers beneath his eyes, feeling for dark circles, “Do I look that bad?”

Yugyeom doesn’t answer. He clicks his tongue, winks and shoots a finger gun, before clicking the door shut. Bambam would’ve absolutely hated it if anyone else had done that, but instead his face warms under his fingers, like a dumb kid.

“Asshole.”  

 

* * *

 

Bambam knows what flirting is. He knows all the tricks (maybe not all -but like, _a lot_ of tricks) in the book. Like, at least ten.

So at the next fitting, when Yugyeom shows up in one of those deep cut armhole shirts with ragged jeans, Bambam’s heart hikes up into his throat.

But Yugyeom is the one to say _“You look nice!”_  as he sheds his clothes, and slides on the second outfit he’s to wear down the runway.

During that short thirty-minute fitting, Bambam laughs more than he’s laughed all day. Yugyeom gives him a pat on the shoulder, and a gentle _please sleep!_  

Bambam shoots back, _please eat,_ and Yugyeom nods furiously, _will do._

He’s very likeable. Bambam almost hates it.

But Bambam doesn’t have time to think about Yugyeom – the show creeps up on him, as Bambam scrambles to pick up the swatches from his leathermaker downstairs, and finish the lining on six, _six_ garments.

Bambam loses his head the day of the show. Places it under a chair somewhere, and scrambles like a chicken. Models _aren’t_ where they’re supposed to be, his coordinator is off fucking with some other designer that didn’t get their shit done on time – where the _hell_ are the boots he asked for?

People are filling in the chairs, and Bambam can only press his face into his hands and breathe.

“Bambam?”

There’s a large hand on his shoulder; Bambam turns.

“Ah,” Bambam breathes. “Glad to know you’re dressed, at least. You look good.”

The suit fits Yugyeom perfectly, and it’s a huge relief. The pants tailor perfectly to his legs, and the silk shirt drapes smoothly down his chest.

“Your collection is first tonight, right?” Yugyeom looks around. “Do you need help with anything?”

Bambam cracks a smile, “That’s not in your job description. Don’t worry.”

“Some of the models are back in hair and makeup,” Yugyeom pats his shoulder, and retracts his hand. “They’ll be done in two minutes, promise.”

“Oh.” Bambam blinks. “Well that’s one problem. Everything’s a mess today, nobody is telling me anything.”

Yugyeom pouts, “I’ll go find Noona. She’s the pacer today, she might know what’s going on.”

“You don’t have to-“

“I’ll be right back!” Yugyeom waves, and Bambam bites his tongue.

Bambam scrambles to help a model into one of the garments – _no your arm doesn’t go there –_ and they start lining up five minutes before show time, which is a nightmare, but it’s all coming together. It’s a blessing and a curse to go first. At least it’ll be over with.

A hand taps his shoulder again, and it’s Yugyeom with a glass in hand.

“You should be in line!” Bambam scolds.

“Here,” Yugyeom holds out a glass of wine. “You need this.”

Bambam stares at the swirly red drink in his hand, and scrunches his eyebrows together. He snatches the glass, “Get in line.”

“They’re giving the opening speech,” Yugyeom rocks back on his heels. “We have ten minutes. Breathe.”

Bambam shoots back the glass of wine, swallowing it in one gulp – how untasteful, but he’s so stressed his eyes might bleed. “Why are you so fucking calm? Don’t you need this gig?”

“It’s too late to be nervous now!” Yugyeom waves, walking backwards towards his place in line. He turns back around, hand brushing through his hair, and Bambam can’t remember the last time a _model_ spoke to him like this.

Bambam squints, and hands off his empty glass to a stagehand before stomping away.

 

* * *

 

True to fruition, it all works out just fine. Nobody trips, nothing rips, Bambam gets a heads up to send a digital copy of his patterns to the company. Winter production starts in summer.

Bambam goes home and sleeps for a full twenty-four hours. He only wakes up because Mark shakes his shoulder at hour twenty-five, worried he might’ve suffocated in his sleep.

He eats whatever leftovers Mark brought home, and passes back out on the couch.

Bambam doesn’t get to see the runway tape until three days later. He sits down with Mark and Jackson, blankets curled at their feet.

“I’m really sorry I couldn’t go,” Jackson wraps his arms around his knees.

“Don’t be,” Mark says. “Fashion shows are really long and boring.”

“Says _you._ ” Bambam huffs, and slides the DVD into their bluray.

He’s kinda’ nervous. He _heard_ it went well – and usually he monitors from backstage – but everything was such a mess, a fellow designer needed help mending a last minute rip, and Bambam had enough pity to help.

It starts out with one of his more simple garments. Hyungwon is first, of course. Hyungwon is his typical go-to, usually at the front of his lineup, wearing the most effeminate of Bambam’s designs.

“I like the jacket,” Jackson comments. “How’d you do that?”

“The ruffles?” Bambam rests his chin on his knees. “You sew it into the princess seam.”

“Ooh.”

“The panel skirt is cool,” Mark comments.

Bambam grins, “Thanks.”

Another model comes out, all walking to the beat. The garment falls _okay,_ not the best. There’s a few things he would’ve changed.

He almost forgets about Yugyeom, until he walks out wearing that crepe suit. His deep blue hair reflects light on camera, looking brighter than usual. His face isn’t stone cold, but soft and relaxed as he walks – and he has a _great_ walk, long legs, confident shoulders.

“Oooooh,” Jackson sits up. “That’s gorgeous.”

Bambam sighs, “He is.”

“What?”

“What?”

“Oh,” Mark leans closer to the T.V. “So he’s the one?”

“N- _No-“_

“He’s tall!” Jackson wiggles. “Wow, and his face is pretty.”

It is. It really is.

Yugyeom pauses at the end of the runway, thumbs in the beltloops, and he sways left, right, before turning on his heel and walking back. Bambam’s gut flip flops, because it’s really fucking hot. He chews on his bottom lip.

“He has a good walk,” Mark sits back against Jackson’s side. “Some of those other models walk like Clydesdales.”

Bambam lowers his voice, “He brought me wine backstage.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. I was freaking out, and he offered to help me.”

Mark snorts, “When has a model ever?”

“Never. That’s the thing.”

“He likes you~” Jackson sings.

Bambam huffs a forced laugh, and goes back to pouting. He watches the rest of his designs walk up and down the runway, but they all pale in comparison to the garment Yugyeom wore. 

 

* * *

 

He’s not given much of a choice when it comes down to choosing models for a magazine shoot, but he is allowed to put in a few choice names.

It’s menswear again, so Bambam writes down his favorites.  Hyungwon, Johnny, Wooseok. All tall, typically the body type that works with his designs.

He hesitates before writing down Yugyeom’s name.

But when Yugyeom knocks on his door a week later, Bambam doesn’t regret it. His hair is pulled back by a pink hairclip, and his lips are a cherry chapstick color, and Bambam is suddenly smacked in the face by the desire to kiss the life out of him.

“Hello hello,” Yugyeom smiles, door clicking behind him. “Long time no see.”

“It’s you,” Bambam smiles.

“I heard you requested me,” Yugyeom grins, leaning up against his pattern table. “Did you watch the show?”

“Of course I did,” Bambam hands him two hangers. “You were okay.”

“Okay?” Yugyeom pouts. “I tried really hard, you know.”

Bambam smirks, “Were you trying to impress me?”

“Of course!”

Bambam swallows, and works on getting the shorts off one of the hangars. “You’re shameless.”

“I was hoping we’d get to work together again,” Yugyeom’s voice muffles, as he slips on the oversized shirt. “I really like your designs.” He picks at the shirt, “What is this?”

“Microfiber polyester,” Bambam says. “Lives and breathes like silk, but you can throw it in the wash.”

“The print is beautiful,” Yugyeom wiggles into the shorts. “Ooh. These are big.”

“I know. I was told a size before model specs.”

“How frustrating,” Yugyeom steps up to the mirror, and lifts his arms. “You must have a buttload of patience.”

Bambam laughs, tugging a little on the hem of the shorts, and grabbing a pin from his wrist cushion. “Not really. You saw me at the fashion show.”

“That was completely understandable.” Yugyeom gathers the hem of the shirt and holds it high enough, so Bambam can measure the slack in the waist. “Plus, it was cute.”

“Shut up,” Bambam tugs on the beltloops, making Yugyeom laugh. “I read your profile. You’re younger than me.”

“Damn.” Yugyeom giggles, “I guess I can’t get away with teasing anymore.”

Bambam looks up at him, from where he’s crouched, and Yugyeom is staring at him with sparkly eyes, wide and shameless.

They finish the fitting. Bambam only needs to make minor adjustments, but Yugyeom stays anyways.

He sits up on his table, talking about home and school and his agency, and Bambam sits at his sewing machine, smiling, because Yugyeom can’t see his face with his back turned.

Yugyeom is easy to open up to. Soon they’re talking like _friends._ Soon Bambam is talking about home, about Jackson and Mark, and the dog they used to have, before their landlord threw a fit and Youngjae came to the rescue.

Yugyeom swings his feet and laughs, hands on the table, and soon they’re batting eyelashes and flirting like it’s highschool again. Maybe they were always flirting. The sky outside his big studio windows turn yellow, then orange, then a sunset shade of pink. It feels like minutes, the air only winding tighter.

“Ughhh,” Yugyeom whines, sliding to his feet. “I have to go. My roommate is gonna’ throw a fit.”

“Good,” Bambam grins. “Get out of my hair.”

Yugyeom sticks out his tongue, and slides his phone into his back pocket, “Don’t miss me too much.”

“Greasy.” Bambam pulls the garment away from the sewing machine, and clips the thread. “Come back when you gain some class.”

“I’ll be back next week then,” Yugyeom say smoothly, and it kinda’ throws Bambam way off. “What kind of coffee do you like?”

“Uh,” Bambam blanks. “Carmel. The sweetest shit they have.”

“Interesting,” Yugyeom sings. “I was half-expecting you to be someone who drinks their coffee black.” He pauses, “But then again, I did watch you shoot back an entire glass of wine in one go.”

Bambam’s dumb stupid mouth says, “There’s a lot of things I can down in one go.”

Yugyeom’s eyebrows skyrocket, and Bambam prepares to fucking backpedal, but Yugyeom sways in the doorway and points, “You win today. Get some sleep, okay?”

“Eat some food,” Bambam calls back, and Yugyeom shoots him a thumbs up before the door closes.

 

* * *

 

Yugyeom does come by with coffee. He has a gig at three, so he only stays to say hello, but the sentiment isn’t lost on Bambam.

However, he’s half done in makeup, eyeliner sharp and hair blown back, and Bambam wants nothing more than to smudge the lipstick of his lips with his own.

Bambam exercises some inkling of self-control, even if he has to bite through his tongue.

But Yugyeom fucks up his whole damn day, because before he leaves, he leans in _close,_ looking Bambam right in the eye as he says, “You slept last night!”

It would be so easy to dig his fingers into the back of his hair, and pull. It’d be easy to close his teeth around his ear and suck on those earrings.

Instead Bambam jabs his finger into Yugyeom’s stomach, and says, “You ate.”

Yugyeom giggles before he waves his goodbye, and Bambam is left sipping his coffee in silence.

Three days later, Yugyeom shows up again. It just so happens to be the day that had Bambam spinning. He’d been all over town, before spending six hours behind a sewing machine, and he no longer sees colors, just blurs. Is that a half inch or a quarter? He wouldn’t know.

Yugyeom knocks again, says _hey I was in the neighborhood –_ and then frowns when he sees Bambam’s ragged appearance.

He drags him out to dinner. It’s some shitty cafe tucked beneath an office building, and it’s not really a date, but it could be.

Bambam is so tired that he lacks any restraint in flirting. He watches Yugyeom’s lips all night, and becomes easily obsessed with the mole beneath his eye.

Bambam hasn’t had a friend his age in a long time, but he’s kind of malcontent about the term _friend._ Especially when Yugyeom laughs, and runs his hands through his hair. Especially. Especially.  

 

* * *

 

Life gets a little busy. Bambam finishes the designs for the upcoming editorial, and works through fitting all the models. Which means Yugyeom included.

He shows up in another low-cut sleeveless shirt, and God is really testing his patience.

They’ve become too comfortable in each other’s presence, because the first thing Yugyeom says is, “Good morning princess.”

Bambam’s response is to chuck the clothes his way and demand, “Strip.”

Yugyeom laughs, popping off his shirt and setting it on the pattern table. Bambam watches him with crossed arms, and Yugyeom folds a hand over one of his pecs, “You’re staring. How unprofessional.”

Bambam rolls his eyes, “Come on. I need to know if these pants fit.”

Yugyeom rolls them on, and Bambam doesn’t bother looking away. There’s something inherently sexy about the way he dresses. Fabric slides over his legs, and up his hips, and he zips up the pants easily.

Yugyeom wiggles, “They’re tight.”

“Good.”

Yugyeom looks him right in the eye, as he slips on the shirt.

“I like the plaid.”

“Me too,” Bambam squats. “Come here.”

Yugyeom is quieter than usual. He’s watching through the mirror.

Bambam starts working, at first. He tugs on the hem, looks for slack, and measures where he might need to adjust the inseam.

He trails his fingers along his inner thigh. Yugyeom shifts on his feet.

Not to be repetitious, but Yugyeom’s legs are fucking fantastic. They’re strong beneath his fingers, skin warm through the fabric.

Bambam’s fingers levitate around his knee. He looks up to meet Yugyeom’s eye – but he’s looking out the window.

Bambam hums, and rolls his hand down his inner leg, fingertips tracing the lip of the inseam. He pulls, and the fit is perfect around his calf.

Normally Yugyeom blabbers away, drawing Bambam into a conversation about nothing. But he’s silent, as Bambam sits up a little, and pulls at the slack around his hips.

“It fits well,” Bambam hums.

“Yeah.”

His body is so nice. Bambam rolls his hand around to his inner thigh once more, and Yugyeom _trembles_ under his fingers. It’s a full body shiver. Bambam can see goosebumps on his arms.

Well, that’s interesting.

His ears are red – Yugyeom is biting his lip, chewing and licking across skin, and Bambam just –

He rolls his hand around to his ass, and pinches the fabric right beneath the pocket. Yugyeom yips, jolting in his hand.

“A perfect fit, I think,” Bambam says.

Yugyeom looks down through his eyelashes, and whines, “ _Mister Sheffield.”_

Bambam laughs, and squeezes his thigh, before standing up, “Sorry. Nice ass though.”

“You better be careful.” Yugyeom lifts his arms, and the air winds tight between them. “I might think you’re flirting with me.”

Instead of checking the hem of the shirt, Bambam’s hands fly to his lower stomach and spread. The skin tenses beneath his fingers, and Bambam curls his nails gently into his soft sides, “Oh, a shame.”  

Yugyeom’s lips twist into a smile, “And what are you checking for, Kunpimook-ssi?"

Bambam snorts, and rolls his hands up to tug on the side seams of the shirt, “Just internal measurements. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Oh really? Without a measuring tape?”

 Yugyeom's voice is a little lower than usual. Bambam’s eyes flicker to the door. Yugyeom had locked it.

Yugyeom’s arms fall back to his sides. Bambam tips his chin up, and looks Yugyeom in the eye.

“It’s an acquired skill.”

“Teach me, master,” Yugyeom says.

“Well…” Bambam drawls. “First, is your side seam.” He pulls his fingers to his armpit, shirt gathering around his wrists. He draws a line from his armpit, to his hip, fingertips softly lining across the bumps of his ribs. “Here….to here.”

Yugyeom shifts a little closer. The toes of their shoes are touching.

“Then, your chest measurement.” Bambam hums, and rolls the pads of his fingers up to Yugyeom’s pecs. His heartbeat skyrockets, but Bambam rides this high of bravery he’s on. He rolls his fingers outwards, thumbs smoothing past warm skin, “Here.”

“Ah, of course.”

Yugyeom is looking at him so intensively, that Bambam can feel blood rushing past his ears. The studio is silent.

“And um,” Bambam breathes. “Arms.”

He gently grips Yugyeom’s biceps, and the shirt falls back down. He slowly rolls his thumbs down his forearm, and Yugyeom hums softly.

“I’m learning so much today~” He whispers.

Bambam licks his lips and looks down, “It’s a lot to remember. Keep up.”

He slips his hands down to Yugyeom’s hips. “Hip measurements are the most important.”

Yugyeom braces his palms on either side of Bambam’s narrow hips as well, “Like this?”

“Ooh, a fast learner,” Bambam grins, and Yugyeom mimics his smirk. They’re close, but it’s a game – a game to see who will break first.

“What’s next?”

“Your inseam. Very important. Don’t forget.”

Yugyeom feigns innocence, “And where’s that?”

Bambam drops to his knees, body burning hot from the act alone. He looks up through his eyelashes and purrs, “Here.” His fingers trail around his right inner ankle.

“Oh?”

“Mhm~” Bambam touches upwards, slowly, along his calf, across his knee, and up his inner thigh. He rolls slowly up his crotch, _very_ gently, but he can still feel how hot Yugyeom is through the fabric. He’s totally not feeling him up, not at all (nice).

Yugyeom is holding his breath. Bambam slowly stands back up, “Can you remember that?”

He shifts closer, hands bracing back on Bambam’s hips, voice dropping, “I think so.”

There’s a brief spot of silence. Yugyeom is staring right at his collar, where the first few buttons of his shirt fell undone, and Bambam’s arousal swirls around his gut. There’s a magnetic pull – Yugyeom’s hands feel like they were made for his hips.

“Hey,” Bambam breathes.

“Hm?”

“You should kiss me.”

 

His back brackets against the pattern table, as Yugyeom shoves him forwards, and braces him in with his arms. Bambam’s hands fly into dark blue hair, and Yugyeom kisses him hot and sticky like Bambam has only dreamed of.

The whole _don’t hook up with models_ thing flies right out the window. Cause, you know, fuck it.

Bambam draws his nails into Yugyeom’s scalp and _whines,_ because Yugyeom is hovering hot and real on top of him. His mouth is wet and evermoving, and Bambam kisses back, because it’s all he can think about.

The kisses are fluid and messy and good, so good that Bambam feels it spark down his chest. He feels twenty-two, and not someone with too many worries.

Yugyeom exhales through his nose, and Bambam arches up against him, legs tangling below.

Bambam toes off his shoes, just so he can hike up a leg by Yugyeom’s hip – Yugyeom uses a hand to hold his thigh, and bend him further.

“Oh my _god,_ ” Yugyeom gravels, kissing harder, “You’re fucking hot.”

Bambam keens a response, “Shut up, shut _up-“_

He rolls his nails down Yugyeom’s neck, arousal knotting harder in his gut with every soft moan Yugyeom gives.

He maps out Yugyeom’s mouth with his tongue, and Yugyeom squeezes his thigh harder, hand working upwards. It feels like a dance.

Yugyeom pulls away to breathe, and Bambam’s head rolls back when Yugyeom slots their hips together.

 _“Fuck.”_ Bambam hisses. “You- _ugh –_ you can’t tell anyone about this.”

“Why would I?” Yugyeom gravels, and sucks beneath his ear. “I’ve wanted to bend you over this table since day one.”

Bambam nearly moans from the loud kissing noises next to his ear, and his cock twitches and fills.

“Shit- _fuck-_ “ Bambam grips the back of Yug's hair and yanks. “How do you, ah, ah, h-how do you know _you_ won’t be the one bent over?”

Yugyeom rolls his hips with the skill of a dancer, and pulls back to grin, “That’s good too.”

Bambam growls, and kisses him again; tongues meet equally; bodies rock into one.

In all honesty, Bambam would be impressed if they got further than this. Yugyeom is kissing hot and fast and Bambam can _feel_ his cock through his – oh shit, those are the editorial garments. Oh _shit._

“Get my clothes off- “ Bambam pushes. “Get-get ‘em off-“

Yugyeom nods, quickly taking off the tailored shirt, and toeing off his shoes before sliding the pants off carefully. They’re tossed to the pattern table, far enough away.

Bambam can see that he’s hard through his black boxers. Bambam rolls a hand between Yugyeom’s legs, his other hand grabbing his hips and pulling him flush. Yugyeom’s breath hitches, and Bambam squeezes the outline of his erection.

“ _Ah, ah-“_ Yugyeom slots forward.

“Fuck.” Bambam curses again, “You’re such a turn on, fuck you.”

Yugyeom breathes a laugh, before his hands swell beneath his shirt, rolling up his chest, and Bambam _might_ have a size kink, because there’s something really hot about the way his hands engulf his body.

The buttons of his shirt are popped off – and Yugyeom leans down to lick into his collarbones.

Bambam squeezes and rolls his cock through the fabric, until he loses patience, and dips his hand beneath the elastic. Yugyeom groans into his neck, and its porn worthy.

He’s embarrassingly hard, rock fucking solid in his jeans, but Bambam is more concerned with how hot and heavy Yugyeom’s dick is in his palm. Damn, he wants this in his mouth.

But Yugyeom is shuddering in his hands, scrambling to kiss his lips and work his jeans open, and Bambam thinks neither of them might last that long.

Bambam squeezes the base of his cock, rolls his hand up and pumps him steadily, kissing hot into Yugyeom’s mouth as he says, “I’m sucking you off next time.”

“Me first,” Yugyeom gravels back, and yanks down Bambam’s jeans with a surprising amount of strength. His cock bobs to his navel, and Yugyeom immediately slots their hips together, cocks slipping together.

They curse simultaneously, the kisses not really kisses, but more open breathing and murmured curses.

Yugyeom’s free hand pushes back Bambam’s bangs, ruffling his hair, and bracing behind his neck. He squeezes softly, and Bambam’s cock throbs in Yugyeom’s other hand.

Yugyeom's tongue slides back into his mouth, before sucking on Bambam’s bottom lip, and the weight in Bambam’s stomach tugs.

“Oh _shit-“_ Bambam rocks forward. “I’m really fucking close."

They’re sticky and sweaty, but Yugyeom rocks so hard their thighs stick, and Bambam tips his head back and moans.

“Come on, come on,” Yugyeom pleads, and Bambam comes, right between them. He throbs, nails digging into Yugyeom’s hip, free hand squeezing his cockhead. Yugyeom grunts, but Bambam is too out of it to register what’s going on. Yugyeom’s stomach catches most of the mess, dripping down between his legs, and it’s _hot._

“Goddammit,” Bambam breathes, trembling in Yugyeom’s arms.

Yugyeom’s eyes are dark and hooded, body scalding against Bambam’s. He exhales, hands evermoving. “Wow. You’re….wow.”

He’s still hard against Bambam’s hip. Bambam quickens his pace, and Yugyeom grunts again.

“Please come in my mouth,” Bambam begs. “Please, please, please.”

“Shit.” Yugyeom screws his eyes shut, wading off his orgasm. “Hurry.”

Bambam scrambles to pull up his jeans, so he can slide to his knees, and angle Yugyeom’s cock into his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the head twice before Yugyeom’s fingers bawl in his hair, and he sobs into his free hand.

Secondhand satisfaction washes through Bambam, as he sucks hard and breathes through his nose, swallowing through the bitterness. His body throbs dully, still content from the hard orgasm before.

Yugyeom nudges him off, and Bambam almost eats shit trying to stand back up. Yugyeom catches his arm, and Bambam whispers a thank you.  

This guys a keeper – because he’s not stingy in the slightest. He grips Bambam around the waist and pulls until they’re kissing again, tasting himself in Bambam’s mouth, and melting him against the poor pattern table.

 

* * *

 

Bambam hates doing the walk of shame in his own apartment. He can hear Mark and Jinyoung talking out in the living room, but he’s honestly so thirsty he _might_ die.

“Do you want me to leave?” Yugyeom asks. He’s half under the blankets, hair messy, cheeks puffy from sleep. His clothes are thrown across Bambam’s bedroom – his shirt somehow landed on the ceiling fan, and it made them laugh too hard to take it down.

In conclusion, Yugyeom looks stupid cute, and Bambam might actually sue him if he moves. He tells him so.

“Okay,” Yugyeom laughs, and snuggles back under the covers.

Mark won’t have any issues with Yugyeom. He probably couldn’t care less.

Bambam, on the other hand, knows he looks like the remnant of a good meal, because his skin bruises like white paper. Ten bucks Jinyoung says something smart.

“I’ll be right back,” Bambam points, before carefully closing the door behind him, and tip toeing out into the hall.

  _“Mhm, mhm._ _Traffic was so bad. The whole freeway was shut down.”_

_“Damn. Did your boss still give you shit?”_

_“You know it. Didn’t even have time to eat lunch. ”_

Bambam carefully walks around the corner, and slips into the kitchen. Mark and Jinyoung are sitting on the couch, coffee steaming in their palms. Bambam slooowly opens the fridge, and as his fingers close around a water bottle, Mark calls from the living room.

“Hey Bam, did your boy leave yet?”

Bambam fumbles the bottle, and it rolls across the kitchen floor. “Shit!”

Mark and Jinyoung turn around at the noise, and Bambam ducks to pick it up.

“Oh wow,” Jinyoung deadpans. “He did a number on you.”

There it is.

Mark nods, “Classy.”

“Did you not feed him before you had sex? Jesus.” 

Bambam’s hand flies to his neck, and he ducks to hide behind the fridge door.

“Heck off.”  

“You didn’t answer my question,” Mark says. “I’m ordering takeout and I need to know if he wants anything.”

“That’d be lovely, actually,” Yugyeom appears, and it looks like he was able to pick his shirt off the ceiling fan. “I have cash. I can pay you back.”

Mark waves, not looking up from his phone. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Thank you,” Yugyeom bows. Bambam presses the water bottle against his forehead, trying to cool down his red face.

“Here,” Bambam hands him a bottle from the fridge, still pressing one against his face, and shutting the door. “Let’s go back.”

“Okay,” Yugyeom chirps, and follows behind.

Jinyoung waves, “See ya’, chew toy.”

 

* * *

 

Yugyeom rolls the edge of the fur collar between his fingers, his other hand playing with the jewelry around his neck.

“This is gorgeous,” he says, eyes glued to the mirror.

“Of course it is,” Bambam says. “I made it.”

“Is this what you stayed up all night for?”  

Bambam nods. He runs a finger from the tip of Yugyeom’s bare sternum, down to his bellybutton.

“I had to crunch to get this done on time.” He hooks his fingers into Yugyeom’s beltloops, and pulls him close. “Your fault, by the way.

Yugyeom laughs, “How’s that _my_ fault?”

“Because, last weekend we sat through the entire Hobbit trilogy.”

“Ah, we did do that,” Yugeom hums. “But you need a break every now and then.”

“I’ll sleep when I’m dead,” Bambam says, and pecks the corner of his mouth. “You look gorgeous, now go.”

He does look handsome, draped in fake fur and faker jewels, ragged jeans and messy hair. It’s a good look.

A hand snakes around his waist, tugging until their hipbones bump, and Yugyeom noses into his hair.

“We’re going to dinner after, right?”

“Of course,” Bambam says. “And then we’re going back to my apartment so I can drape you in nothing but this new chiffon I bought last week.”

Yugyeom jokingly rolls his eyes, “Oh, how exciting.”

Bambam pats his ass, and spins him around, back toward the door, “Chiffon is sheer, my dear.” He gives a firm push, and Yugyeom stumbles as he laughs.

“Right.”

Bambam stays true to his word. They walk back to that shitty café for dinner. They laugh loud and obnoxious in the corner booth, both stupid enough to order coffee at nine o’clock at night. They hold hands as they walk home, Yugyeom’s warmer and larger than his own. It’s easy to forget about the world when they're laughing.

 And later he ties Yugyeom’s wrists with silk, bouncing in his lap, watching as sheer fabric sticks to his broad chest with sweat.

Yugyeom’s feet plant firm in the mattress, for all he can do is roll to meet Bambam thrust for thrust. His hands squirm behind his back, head thumping against the headboard occasionally.

Bambam’s voice is rough from sucking Yugyeom’s cock like his life depended on it less than five minutes ago, but he kinda’ likes the gravelly tone of it.

“You’re going to regret dating me.”

Yugyeom snorts, and peeps open an eye. “Am I?”

Bambam falls back down with a short exhale, Yugyeom’s dick buried thick in his ass, and he nods, “Mhm.”

“Why’s that?”

“I have a lot planned for you.” Bambam softly runs his fingers along Yugyeom’s jawline, and swivels his hips once more. “Lots of beautiful nightgowns.”

Bambam bounces in his lap, and Yugyeom grunts a hard curse. His hips thrust up, and Bambam moans. The chiffon slides away, and slips back between the mattress and the headboard.

Yugyeom tips his head to rest against Bambam’s. “Sounds like a plus to me.”

“Mmm. Navy georgette slip dresses. _Ah,_ black lace,” Bambam says, and he’s getting close, so his sentances become less eloquent. “I can see it now.”

Yugyeom surges against him, and his dick rolls right where Bambam needs it; his nails dig right into Yugyeom’s biceps as he screams.

“What about you?” Yugyeom purrs. “When do I get to dress _you_ up?”

“Any time, any place baby,” Bambam says. He tips back his head to brace his hands on Yugyeom’s  knees and ride. “Fuck, I’m close.”

Yugyeom pulls where his hands are tied, and his eyes stare between Bambam's legs, where his cock is red and leaking.

 _“_ Me too – _fuck,_ please, Bammie, touch yourself-“

Bambam does, quickly, and Yugyeom’s pace sputters. His hand works quickly, and Bambam draws out Yugyeom’s name.

“That’s so hot, oh my god-“

Bambam’s exhausted stomach muscles clench hard, and Bambam hurls himself up to swallow Yugyeom’s tongue once more, just to make sure he never forgets the taste.

As his body cools and throbs, he’s sure to watch Yugyeom’s face intensively as he comes. Even as he unties Yugyeom’s wrists. Even as Yugyeom wipes them down softly. Even as they crawl under the sheets, Bambam watches his face.

“What’s wrong?” Yugyeom asks, chest to chest. They’re close enough to inhale the other’s CO2, but it’s not worth moving for.

“You don’t want to date me." Bambam wiggles an arm from between them to brush Yugyeom’s bangs out of his eyes. He draws his hand around to Yugyeom’s ear, and plays with his earrings. “I’m married to my work.”

“Polyamory is a thing,” Yugyeom grins, and Bambam fake pouts.

“I’m trying to be considerate here.”

Yugyeom blows in his face, and Bambam sputters away.

“So am I!” Yugyeom grins. He pats Bambam’s hip, “I know you’re used to thinking about the future, but let’s just think about the now.”

“Hmrph.”

“We can start over,” Yugyeom says. “Bambam, please date me. Please don’t stop wearing leggings and crop tops and please don’t stop dressing me up in your clothes. I really like being your model, and I really, really like you.”

Bambam laughs, hiding his face behind his free hand. Yugyeom is giggling too, and they sound like kids hiding under a blanket.

“I really like you too.”

 

**Author's Note:**

> the yugbam tag needed some love yo 
> 
> [kpop tumblr](http://mamajinchim.tumblr.com/) so


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